“Grief is not an illness, a diagnosis, or a constant state. Grief is the bruise after a blow. Blackening is normal. Swelling is normal. Then a rotten sort of putrid. Then it sinks beneath the skin, failing to mark you anymore, failing to excuse you, returning you to the masses before you’re ready. You’ll miss the black and blue because as soon as it fades, you go from “honoring” to – as your onlookers might say – “dwelling,” that damnable word.”
